And So We Fight On
by Yesm777
Summary: Alternate ending/scene to 1.04 "Break Out." The bullet just missed Dalton's chest plat, sinking into unprotected flesh. Recently extended. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I did post this story before. But a wonderful reviewer mentioned that they would've liked to see more of the team worrying over Adam during the two days he was out. So I extended it! It's not as long or as detailed as it could've been, but I hope this extended version is still enjoyable all the same. Since it ended up being longer, I split it into two chapters, so be wary of that!_

 _Also, as a disclaimer, I am so not a medical professional (but truly appreciate and admire those who are), so please be understanding of my medical blunders if there are any. You are all incredible human beings, and I thank you profusely for taking precious time to read my tale._

 **And So We Fight On**

 _Chapter One_

Dalton hiked up the stairs, the heavy plastic bucket in hand. Leaving Patricia with McGuire, he had one focus—marking their location for the rest of his team. They had only one chance to get out in just a handful of minutes. To most, this would seem like impossible odds. But Dalton trusted his team. Every one of them had been handpicked by him personally, and he was confident they could get the job done.

He ran up the last several steps, eyes snapping forward as a flutter of fabric waved in his peripheral.

Then he saw the other man. And the gun.

He instantly reached for his handgun, sliding it out of the holster with ease.

And just as he pulled the trigger, something punched him in the shoulder—hard. His balance tipped, but he kept his eye on the target, releasing another couple shots until the threat was down.

As the man slid down the wall, Dalton hit the ground, his head smacking the concrete. For a moment, all he felt was pain. In his shoulder. In his head. And then it faded away, his vision dimming as the familiar warmth of unconsciousness enveloped him.

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McGuire could only stare as the prisoner pressed an old nail against Patricia's neck. Dalton had given him a command; he couldn't just leave Patricia alone and in danger.

"You are following a direct order. Get. Out," Patricia ground out, her face fierce with determination. Truthfully, Patricia's word was more powerful than Dalton's, but McGuire couldn't just let his team leader down like that.

"Get _out_ ," she pressed, her eyes narrowing. Pursing his lips, McGuire took one last look at Patricia before pushing his way out of the room. He hated that he had to leave, but at the moment, there was nothing he could do about it. Dalton would come up with a solution. He always did.

Fortunately, there weren't any unfriendlies in the hallway, and there was only one path for Dalton to take. McGuire headed straight for the stairs, taking steps two at a time in search of his team leader.

His heart dropped when he saw a familiar head of hair at the top.

"Adam," he huffed urgently, hands already reaching toward Dalton. McGuire's eyes flickered over his team leader, his gaze catching crimson. Quite a bit of it.

There was a faint groan, and McGuire squeezed Dalton's arm in response, looking around to ensure the area was clear. There was only one other man, slumped on the floor, clearly no longer with them.

"Top? Top, can you hear me?" he asked, his free hand probing the bloody shoulder as he hastily looked for the wound. It looked like the shot had just missed the chest plate, sinking itself into unprotected flesh, and the bullet hole was still weeping blood freely.

McGuire gently pushed Dalton onto his side to look for an exit wound, grimacing when he didn't see one. "You with me?"

"Yeah," came the faint reply, weary and strained. "I'm here."

McGuire dug into his medical supplies, grabbing some gauze. He hated to apply a rushed bandage, but they didn't have time for anything better. Binding the wound was the best they could do right now, so he got to work.

"Why aren't you with the director?" Dalton asked, his voice a little stronger.

"The prisoner…Looks like he picked up a nail somewhere and used it to hold her hostage. He told me to get out, and the director gave me a direct order to leave the room."

Dalton shook his head. "You've got to get back down there." There was a pained pinch to his features, but he still looked every bit like the strong team leader McGuire respected. The amount of blood was worrying, but with Noah's voice urgently pushing in his ear, McGuire couldn't give Dalton the recovery time he needed to reorient himself and get back into action.

Once the gauze was securely placed over Dalton's shoulder, McGuire reluctantly pulled the man off the floor. Dalton's stumble didn't go unnoticed.

"You okay?" McGuire prodded, his chest squeezing worriedly as he watched the team leader reach for the heavy bucket again.

"Okay enough," Dalton mumbled. "Get back down to Director Campbell. Make sure she's safe."

The team medic wasn't exactly comfortable leaving Dalton alone in such a state, but orders were orders. And hopefully, it wouldn't be long before the rest of the team got them out.

With a heavy sigh, McGuire bounded back down the stairs.

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His vision was swimming. He could feel the wet cold of blood on his shoulder, and it hurt like hell to move the limb connected to it. Still, he had a job to do, bullet wound or not.

With a cry, he lifted the bucket of powder onto the window sill, pouring the contents down the exterior wall. Hopefully, this would be easy to spot. He had to get Patricia out. He had to get McGuire out.

Dalton turned to go back downstairs, stopping when black dotted his vision. His body ached with weakness, and his shoulder and head throbbed with the wild beat of his adrenaline-fed heart. He just had to push hard as hell until all this was over.

Using the walls for support, he swayed and stumbled as he jogged back to the stairs and down the steps. Once at the bottom, he allowed only a few seconds of rest, then plowed on toward the room. His vision was blurry and his legs were struggling to carry his weight to the door. Before he could manage to slip inside the room, a blast shook the building, small bits of rubble pinging the door from the inside.

Noah's voice continued to drone desperately in the comms, urging them to get out of there before they were discovered. Dalton knew what little time they had, and he knew his team would hesitate to leave without him. The extra seconds they'd wait would put Patricia and the prisoner at risk. So he mustered all the strength he had, pushed the door open, and sprinted toward the open hole in the wall. The glaring light of the sun assaulted his eyes, stabbing the back of his brain without mercy. Still, he pushed on.

He could almost feel the worried glances from his team, but they were too busy piling into the Humvee to actually say anything.

Damn, he felt like shit.

He climbed into the passenger side, feeling overtaxed and dizzy. His vision was graying in and out, and he knew without looking that blood was seeping through the pure white of the gauze.

Once they were all in and hurtling towards the road—with Joseph working on the bleeding prisoner—Jaz braved the question they were all thinking. "You okay, Top? You look like hell."

He swallowed thickly, blinking hard against the throbbing pain in his skull. "Fine for now. Focus on the task at hand."

Before Jaz could ask further, Noah was talking, saying something about creating some space between them and the hostiles behind.

"That means drive faster," Jaz said heatedly, looking to Amir.

"I'm aware," he muttered, pressing harder on the gas pedal.

Dalton was trying his hardest to stay present, but his head couldn't seem to stay up, and he wasn't sure how long he'd last.

"Top? Adam?"

He could feel Jaz's hand cupping his face, a rare act of worry for her tough personality.

"He's really pale, McG."

Two fingers were pressed against his neck. He wanted to swat them away, but he was so tired. So, so tired.

"I's fine," Dalton mumbled, attempting to sit up straighter to push back the weakness. The job wasn't over yet. He couldn't rest.

There was a wild shout of "Brace yourselves!" and a small explosion ahead of them. Amir did his best, but the swerve into the ditch was inevitable. They were stuck. The Humvee wasn't going anywhere.

They'd have to fight their way out now.

The blast left them somewhat disoriented, and they tried to fight past the ringing in their ears as they prepared themselves for heavy action. Smoke wafted in through the windows, coaxing coughs out of the passengers.

With the prisoner badly injured, Dalton was determined to not be another burden to the team. He pushed open the door, falling out of the vehicle and scrambling to find a somewhat safe place to face the enemy. Someone pressed a rifle into his hands just as he turned to ask for one. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but he pushed it aside, instead focusing on the threat.

As he pressed the rifle against his shoulder, he hissed, dreading what was about to come. Luckily, McGuire had his hands full with hailing bullets and a bleeding prisoner, otherwise Dalton was sure the medic would pull him from battle. Injury or not, Dalton had to be here for his team. It was his duty.

It took thrice as much focus to aim properly, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Without further hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

And pain burst through his shoulder.

He let out a cry but hoped no one had heard, instead blinking away the blurriness in his vision to refocus. A small hand grasped his good shoulder and he glanced back to see Jaz staring at him worriedly.

"I'm fine," he yelled in frustration, waving her off. She looked doubtful but, surprisingly, didn't press the issue. Dalton turned back towards the enemy, blinking harshly. As his vision cleared, he could see a couple of men loading up an RPG and cursed as he turned back to his team. Jaz was gone now, but he hoped most could hear his shout over the gunfire.

"Take cover!" he bellowed, daring to look back at the enemy as he heard the telltale hiss through the air. The explosive hit only a few feet away from him, sending his already dizzy head into a tailspin as he collapsed on the dirt.

"Top!"

He recognized McGuire's voice in an instant and felt a pull on his tactical gear. It felt like he was being dragged backward, supposedly away from danger. The world faded into a muffled blob of noise, and for a moment, he wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to be doing. A tinny, electronic voice was buzzing in his ear, but he couldn't pick up any words.

And hell, why did he hurt so much?

Someone was touching his shoulder and face, hands aggressive yet careful. Dalton tried to blink away his graying vision, attempting to engage in what was going on around him. When had it gotten this hard to focus?  
"Top?"

Ah, his hearing was coming back. Was that McGuire?

"Top, stay with me."

He wasn't sure where he was going.

There was that voice buzzing in his ear again. It sounded sharp. Urgent. Another voice answered, mingled with the distant echo of warfare. Preach? It sounded like Preach.

There was a poke at his shoulder, and he flinched harshly at the blooming pain.

"Come on, Top."

What? What was he missing?

The ongoing pumps of firing bullets were starting to dig into his brain, and the odd explosion or two sent a spike through his skull. Dalton felt like he should be doing something, but he couldn't remember what.

"We gotta go. Come on. We gotta go."

Urgent hands pulled him up from the ground, throwing his arm over warm shoulders. Dalton half jogged, half stumbled to keep up with his human crutch, but it felt like he was ultimately being dragged across the sandy earth.

In the next instant, there was a boom of heavier explosives, sending Dalton flying before his shoulder was ground into the rough, gritty dirt.

Then everything went black.

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Jaz coughed as she took stock of her wellbeing. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, she seemed to be relatively okay. Looking around, she saw Preach and Amir hastily checking themselves over before glancing around at the rest of their party. With a quick sweep to her left, Jaz was relieved to find the director safe and sound with a still-alive prisoner. And as she looked to her right—

She froze.

Dalton was motionless. Like a ragdoll in McGuire's hands.

McGuire was coughing away the last of the dust, rolling the team leader onto his back. He started pulling away the gauze on Dalton's shoulder, hastily inspecting the wound. There had been quite a bit of blood before, but the stain had grown even larger since they'd left the prison.

Jaz should've noticed. She should've checked to make sure Dalton was alright. But when they were under fire, his back was to her, and she couldn't see much of his shoulder. He'd looked pale and his cry of pain had alarmed her, but she convinced herself that he would say something if he was truly in danger.

And she'd left him there to find herself a better perch in the battle.

Noah's voice buzzed in their ears. _"Preach, status? Anyone? Status?"_ But all Jaz could think about was getting to Dalton. Lending what help she could.

Preach answered Noah breathlessly, stating that most of the team was alive and well but that Dalton and the prisoner needed medical treatment right away.

Jaz was tempted to look at Patricia, at her other teammates. But she kept her eyes on Dalton. She hated that she hadn't prodded him further. That she hadn't urged him to sit aside to keep him from worsening his injury.

"How is he? What happened?" Jaz asked worriedly, kneeling on the other side of Dalton.

McGuire was working quickly, having already torn the gauze from the team leader's shoulder as he starting cutting at the sleeve material.

"I found him on the ground in the prison, unconscious. From what I could tell, he only sustained one shot to the shoulder and possibly a minor head injury," McG muttered, pulling off the cut material and tossing it aside. Jaz pursed her lips as he pulled out some forceps and a skin stapler. "But there's no exit wound, and I didn't have time to remove the bullet or give him the proper care." He paused, pouring some alcohol over the forceps for good measure.

McGuire carefully dug the forceps into the wound as Jaz furrowed her brow. Preach moved to stand at Dalton's feet, looking around for any other signs of a threat. Jaz could feel his concern rolling off him in waves. They were all worried. Jaz knew that without question. Even Patricia, as tough as she was. It was clear she cared about every member of the team, regardless of how she sounded over the comms on any given day.

Jaz sighed as Noah offered a curt update on arriving help, which Preach quietly acknowledged. Sweat was collecting on McGuire's brow, and Jaz wondered if she should offer any help. Just as she was about to ask, he whispered a breathy "got it" and pulled the forceps out of the still bleeding wound. A crumpled bullet was fit firmly in the forceps' grip, coated in a sick shine of red. McGuire dropped it on the gauze he'd removed earlier and prepared the skin stapler.

Jaz flinched faintly with each click of the stapler, wondering silently if this was too little too late. The thought haunted her. She wasn't prepared to lose another teammate. Especially Dalton. He shouldn't have been using a rifle with a bullet still in his shoulder. The kickback had probably done more damage. She should have taken the rifle from him. Maybe she should've dragged him away from danger.

But Jaz knew Dalton better than that. He'd fight tooth and nail to keep everyone safe. His team's wellbeing was his first priority, and he'd never send his team to do something he could do himself.

McGuire cleaned Dalton's shoulder as much as he could before wrapping fresh gauze over the wound. The medic started an IV with fluids, mumbling something about how it was his last bag. McGuire was very capable, but even he could only do so much out in the middle of the desert.

Once the IV was in and the fluids were flowing, McGuire checked Dalton's pulse, looking to the sky with a wordless prayer. He closed his eyes, his tense shoulders relaxing a bit.

Jaz wanted to ask but was afraid of the answer. Fortunately, Preach voiced the question for her.

"Will he be alright?"

McGuire didn't answer right away. For a moment, he simply sat still, taking a deep breath as Noah reported that help was only a couple minutes out.

"I don't know," he sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**And So We Fight On**

 _Chapter Two_

Preach tightened his grip on his rifle, breathing deeply through his nose as Dalton was loaded into the back of the truck. Preach had always been a master at keeping a cool exterior, but inside, his stomach flipped as his lungs tensed in his chest. He'd known Dalton for a long time, and no matter how many friends he'd lost or how many missions were under his belt, it was still excruciating to watch a teammate suffer in the field.

But he knew without a doubt that Dalton would've taken that shot again and again. Anything for the team. Anything for the mission.

And Dalton would swap his own life for Patricia's in an instant.

Preach encouraged Jaz to climb into the truck with Dalton. She tried to hide it, but he could see just how desperate she was to stay close to their injured leader. Their team's most recent loss was still fresh on her mind, and Preach knew it brought her some comfort to be beside Dalton, if only to know he was still alive.

McGuire was already in the truck, double-checking Dalton's IV and wound, but Amir stopped to look Preach directly in the eye, something soft in the dark orbs.

"I know you two are close," he said, just quietly enough to stay between them. Two other men were climbing into the truck, and Patricia and her prisoner were being helped into another. "You should be with Top. I can stay with Director Campbell."

Preach smiled humorlessly. "Thank you." Amir had a good heart; that was probably why Dalton recruited him in the first place. "But we should both ride with the director. Give McGuire and the other medics some room."

Amir pursed his lips in an almost imperceptible show of disagreement and concern, but he nodded anyway, making his way to the second truck as Preach followed.

Sure, Preach was close to Dalton, but the situation was hard on everyone in the team. And it wouldn't be fair if any one of them had to deal with it alone—Amir included.

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There wasn't much he could do at this point. Until they had a sterile operating room and a couple bags of blood, McGuire just had to sit and wait. And the waiting was agonizing.

He looked over Dalton to stare at Jaz, frowning when he saw the subtle pinches of fear in her brave mask. The woman was tough as nails, but the idea of losing a teammate would make anyone panic. And she was holding it together better than he was.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his eyes back to the gauze around Dalton's shoulder. Dalton shouldn't have gone upstairs on his own. Someone should've been with him. Someone should've had Dalton's back. _McGuire_ should've had his back.

But the rational part of McGuire's brain said that Dalton was more than capable of going it alone in a hostile environment. And truthfully, it had been McGuire's duty to stay with Patricia and the prisoner. With just the two of them, it was only logical that Dalton went on his own.

McGuire closed his eyes, regulating his breathing to chase his guilty thoughts away. He should've taken the time to remove the bullet, time crunch or not. He should've at least stapled the wound shut as soon as it happened to minimize bleeding. Hell, he should've taken the damn bucket from Dalton and marked the wall instead.

Then again, hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze falling on Dalton's pale face. The other medics were talking quietly among themselves, one speaking quickly into a radio. Unsure of what to do, he clasped Dalton's wrist, checking the faintly beating pulse for the hundredth time.

"It's not your fault."

McGuire glanced up at Jaz, only to look back down in guilt.

"It's just part of the job," she continued, her voice strong but kind. "We know the risks. Top knows the risks." McGuire pressed his lips together, staring down at that damn gauze.

"You did everything you could in the time you had."

He shook his head. "I could've done more."

"You couldn't have."

He looked up, his brow furrowed.

"It was a tight timeframe. And no matter what happens, our first priority is the mission." Her eyes bore into his, unrelenting but supportive. "I know you, McG. And I know you did what you could in the time you had."

His throat tightened with emotion, and he swallowed to try and chase it away. She was right. He did what he could.

He did everything he could.

"Thank you," he croaked, clearing his throat.

She smiled faintly. "Don't sweat it. Top would've said the same thing."

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, smirking.

Yeah, he would've.

The two of them sat in silence for the next several minutes, McGuire keeping his fingers on Dalton's wrist to feel the wild thrum of a heartbeat. Dalton's heart was pumping hard to push blood through his veins, and while it wasn't ideal, it wasn't worrisome enough to send McGuire into a panic.

Jaz kept her eyes on McGuire, reading his face for any sign of bad news. For now, he looked relatively calm, and that gave her some comfort. But Dalton's pale, slack face was hard to look past, and no matter how calm McGuire was, she was going to feel that concrete ball of fear in her chest until Dalton was well on the road to recovery.

This wasn't Dalton's first injury. Hell, with how many risks he took, it was a miracle he was still in one piece. But with every bleed or bruise, he'd hop to his feet and push on. Most of the time, injury was just a hiccup in his plan.

This was more than a hiccup.

He'd looked half dead in the Humvee. When his head started to dip to his chest, she knew this was beyond just some blood on his sleeve. But there hadn't been time, and the RPGs and bullets were raining down on them in an instant.

Slowly, she moved to clasp a hand around Dalton's forearm, if only to make sure he was still alive and warm. He was cooler than she expected, but if McGuire wasn't worried about it, there was no reason she should be.

Still, easier said than done.

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The truck slowed to a stop as the medic moved to check on Nate, the prisoner. Patricia sighed. They must've arrived at their destination. She hadn't felt this shitty since…since she'd been informed of her son's death. Right now, Nate was her priority, but her mind was with Dalton.

She knew that Dalton and his team would complete the mission by whatever means necessary, and she'd used that to get the right information out of Nate. Luckily, the team had enough time to get away from the strike, but she would never forget seeing McGuire flip over the bloody, unconscious team leader. Dalton was so pale. He looked so exhausted. And all she could think was that he'd been injured in the field and had to push past the pain and the blood loss to get the job done. That he had to risk his own health and survival for her sake.

Nate was getting carted out of the back of the truck, and she mustered up enough energy to follow. As she climbed out, she glanced back at Preach and Amir, only to be greeted by tired, reassuring smiles. They'd been through this too many times with too many teammates and colleagues. And they could still offer a smile.

Patricia turned away, dropping down to the dirt before she straightened her back and stood taller. Even in a time like this, she had to be strong. It was just who she was.

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It had been almost twenty-four hours. No one had slept. Hardly anyone ate, and what they did eat was small and dismal. Instant coffee pumped through their veins, urging them to stay alert and keep watch.

McGuire kept reassuring them that they just had to let Top's body heal on its own, but the anxious itch of concern lingered, and they waited impatiently. Dalton was a heavy sleeper as it was, but the fact that he hadn't moved a millimeter in nearly twenty-four hours was worrying.

Patricia was still sitting with Nate, keeping watch over him as he slept on in another room. The team had settled wherever they could in Dalton's room, scattered but cramped.

Jaz sat in a chair by Dalton's bed, chewing furiously at her nails as she stared at the heartrate monitor. She hated waiting, and this was the most agonizing wait of her life. Preach stood behind her in the corner, still as a statue. She could only imagine what he was thinking. He was incredibly adept at keeping calm, even in the most upsetting situations. Truthfully, he was probably the one keeping the rest of them sane and even-keeled.

Jaz pulled her nails from her mouth, clenching her hands into fists on her lap. McGuire had just stood up from his seat, making a move to check Dalton's wound and condition.

"I thought that was the doc's job," Jaz muttered, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"Well, he hasn't come around in a few hours, and Top's temp is looking a little high."

Jaz stiffened at that, eyes searching for a temperature on the monitor. Just over one-hundred.

"Infection?" Amir asked, shifting in his own seat.

"Maybe," McGuire huffed, pulling gingerly at the bandaging. After they'd arrived, Dalton was taken to surgery to ensure there weren't any bullet fragments or other debris in the wound before it was cleanly stitched. But the team had forgotten that infection was still a possibility.

McGuire lifted the bandaging a bit more and inspected the wound. After several long seconds, he pressed the gauze back in place and shook his head. "Someone should get the doctor."

Amir was up and out the door before anyone had the chance to verbally volunteer.

"What does an infection mean? Will he be alright?" Jaz asked worriedly, large eyes boring into McGuire. Preach moved to stand beside her.

"If it is an infection, they'll just start him on antibiotics. And if we caught it early, he should be fine," McGuire replied, his voice even and low. Jaz thought he looked more than a little worse for wear. She pressed her lips together in concern as McGuire continued. "If treatment goes smoothly, it shouldn't affect his recovery all that much."

Preach breathed deeply, nodding. "Thanks, McG."

Jaz stared up at McGuire, tracing the tired lines in his face. "Maybe you should get some sleep. We can wake you up if anything changes."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "No, I want to stay here with Top. Make sure he's okay."

"You look like hell," Jaz stated bluntly, her brow furrowing. "I get that you want to stay with Top. We all do. But you need some sleep. You need to take care of yourself."

His eyebrows rose. "I could say the same for any of you."

Preach stepped forward, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Alright, you don't have to leave," he sighed. "Stay in the room, but at least try to get a little shuteye."

McGuire stood still for a moment, then deflated. He looked years older, worn down by the harrowing events of the last day. "Yeah, okay," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. He moved to take a seat, but stopped when he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

A doctor shoved his way through the door, Amir right on his heels. Without a word, he checked the monitor and took his own look under the gauze. He turned to McGuire, his eyes sharp. "Nice catch. We'll get him started on antibiotics right away." He glanced between Amir and McGuire. "You were right to get me. I'll send a nurse in immediately."

With a look at the rest of the team and a comforting hand on McGuire's shoulder, he breezed out of the room again, walking quickly down the hall to find a nurse. The team stared at the door for a minute at the doc's sudden absence, trying to sort their thoughts. Jaz was the first to speak.

"Does that mean we caught the infection early?"

McGuire sighed slowly, dropping into his seat. "I would say so."

The four of them were silent for several minutes, Amir finally moving to sit back in his chair. Preach retreated to his quiet corner.

With a purse of her lips, Jaz folded her arms, settling in for however long she had to. Didn't matter if it was minutes or hours, she was prepared to keep watch indefinitely. Her eyes wandered to McGuire. "Get some sleep, McG."

He nodded as he sank further in his seat, letting his head rest against the back of the chair. His eyes watched the ceiling for a long while, and the silence pressed against them as they waited. The nurse came and went, hooking up antibiotics and redressing Dalton's wound. Through it all, not one of them said a word. Not one of them felt the need to.

And as the minutes ticked by, McGuire finally fell into a shallow sleep, settled awkwardly in his chair.

All they could do was wait.

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Amir was exhausted. The whole team was. And after some aggressive coaxing, he managed to convince Jaz and Preach to rest a little and take a power nap. Amir had managed to get a little sleep of his own in the last few hours, and McGuire was already snoozing again, the hectic events of the last couple of days catching up to him.

It meant the world to Amir that they trusted him enough to keep watch. Alone. But it meant more to him that he could this for _them_. He respected Dalton. He really did. And Amir was worn down with worry. Still, as much as all this affected him, it seemed to cut deeper for the rest of the team. Watching them all suffer so much…it was hard to stomach, and he was happy that he could offer them some reprieve.

With a quiet sigh, he folded up a fresh cloth and started sponging sweat off Dalton's hairline. His fever broke sometime in the quiet hours of the morning, helping them all relax just a little. The doctor expected only a smooth recovery from here.

It was nice to have a little peace.

Amir turned when he heard the soft squeak of the door. Patricia peeked her head in, her blonde hair tousled. "Have room for another?" she whispered smoothly. She'd been by once before, but couldn't stay long since the prisoner wasn't exactly in the best shape.

He smiled a little, gesturing for her to come in. She moved to stand beside him, her arms folded as she took Dalton in. "He's starting to look better."

Amir nodded, blotting more perspiration from Dalton's brow. "How's the prisoner?"

"Nate's stable and well on the road to recovery," she reported. Amir heard something in the stiffness of her voice. She had a soft spot for Nate, despite his past. The ex-spy bit back a smirk. Patricia stood tall and tough, but she cared about people. That's part of why she was so good at her job. That's part of why they were all good at their jobs.

She sat on the edge of the bed, careful and slow.

"How's the team holding up?" she asked, her eyes still on Dalton.

Amir shrugged. "Better now." He set the cloth aside, glancing around at his teammates. "They're still worried but not as restless."

"How are _you_ doing?"

Amir looked up at that. Frankly, he was surprised she would ask. Not that he didn't think she would care. Of course she would care. It was just…unexpected. He was the new guy. And over the comms, her focus and attention was mostly on Dalton and the team as a whole. If he was called out directly, it was usually for a specific command. So Amir just figured that the individual wellbeing of team members was more Dalton's concern.

"I'm fine," he mumbled pathetically.

She leveled a look at him, as if daring him to do better.

"I'm tired," he admitted. "And I just want this all to be over."

Patricia nodded, offering a small smile of comfort. "It will be soon. Dalton's not one to give up on a fight."

At her reassurance, Amir could feel the knot in his chest loosen a little. He didn't realize how much he needed someone to say it. Someone he trusted that meant it. Someone who wasn't just saying it to convince themselves.

He looked at his feet. "Thank you."

Jaz stirred on the other side of Dalton, taking a deep breath as she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Patricia smiled, slipping off her perch on the bed.

Maybe it was time the team got some real sleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Patricia mopped some of the sweat off Dalton's forehead, her lips pursed as her eyes roved over his still face. She'd finally convinced the team to rest, but it had taken the better part of an hour to do it.

Honestly, she should've flown back home as soon as Nate was stable, but she wanted to be here for her team. For Adam. Caring for the team in person was a rare occasion, and she couldn't pass it up. It was often difficult to watch them risk their lives an ocean away, and this helped put her own unease at rest.

She gently dabbed the cloth against his forehead, a touch anxious in the silence of the room. It had been a trying couple of days, but Dalton was recovering well.

Still, he hadn't woken up yet, and that set everyone on edge.

Including Patricia.

She released a heavy sigh, sitting back in her chair while she stared at the bandaging around his shoulder. This was supposed to be a pretty simple mission. Go in, interrogate the prisoner, and get out. To think that of all the jobs, _this_ was the one that nearly cost her a team leader and a friend…the thought made her sick. But this was their job. Their life. And the only thing that helped Patricia through it was thinking about how many lives they had saved over the years.

It was exhausting. But to be honest, she wouldn't even think of working any other job.

Patricia sighed, then stopped suddenly at a small noise. She strained her ears, wondering vaguely if it was her imagination.

A faint groan drifted from Dalton's lips. She sat up straighter in her seat, watching Dalton closely. His brow furrowed. His lips pursed.

And Patricia couldn't help but smile.

Bleary blue eyes blinked into consciousness, slowly shifting around the room as they grew sharper and sharper. It only took a matter of seconds before they fell on Patricia.

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Since you're still in one piece…" he croaked, "I take it you got what you needed."

Her smile widened and she dipped her head in a slow affirmative. "He told me just before the strike. And before you ask, the rest of the team is safe and healthy." There was a beat of silence as she let his relief sink in. "You, on the other hand, took a bit of a beating."

"I'm fine," he muttered quickly, attempting to dismiss her concern.

"Dalton," she said sternly, watching his still-pale face. "You took a hit and proceeded to operate with the bullet still in your shoulder. Some would call that reckless." He gingerly pushed himself up to a more upright position, not saying a word. Patricia wondered if she should stop him from moving at all, but figured it wouldn't matter. She continued. "You passed out on the field and haven't been conscious for two days." He looked up at that, his expression hardening.

"Two days? Shouldn't you already be in the states?"

She smiled, breathing deeply. "I decided to stay a few more days. To make sure you were alright."

There was another pull at the corner of his mouth. "I appreciate that."

"Well, I'd hate to lose my team leader." They both smirked at that.

After a minute of comfortable silence, Patricia stood up, smoothing out her pants. "I'm happy to see you finally awake, but I think it's time I take our prisoner back home." She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "I'll send your team in. Take it easy for a while, and be sure to update me when you can."

He nodded shallowly. "Will do." He knew she would stay longer if she could justify it, but she was probably already pushing it as it was.

Patricia reached forward to grasp his good shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Take care, Dalton." With one last small smile, she turned to leave the room, already pulling out a sat phone to make a call.

Dalton watched her go, smirking. And some would say she didn't care.

He gingerly rested a hand on his bandaged shoulder, feeling groggy and sore. It wasn't exactly an unfamiliar feeling. Most missions ended with a long slumber and a handful of scrapes and bruises.

Taking a deep breath, his mind drifted to his team. He vaguely remembered being cornered by their pursuers, surrounded by gunfire and small explosives. Adam couldn't remember how it had ended, and while Patricia had assured him that his team was alive and well, he couldn't help but worry about them.

The door opened, and he turned his head to see Jaz's face first.

"Hey, Top," she greeted, her smile almost too wide. The rest of the team milled in behind her, enthusiastically offering their own greetings.

Damn, they looked so tired.

But other than a minor scratch or purpling skin, they seemed okay. Relief washed through Adam, his concern drifting away as they crowded around his bed.

"Good to see you awake," Preach said, folding his arms at the end of the bed, Amir standing quietly beside him. Jaz slipped into a seat next to Adam, her eyes alight as her grin faded to a small smile.

McG stood on the other side, hands in his pockets. "You had us worried there for a minute," he muttered.

Adam smiled, looking between each team member. "Well, you know me. Can't get rid of me that easily." A relieved laughter filled the room, an emotional, optimistic charge in the air.

The team was all right.

That's all that mattered now.

That's all that mattered to Adam.

 _Fin._


End file.
